


Defect

by AkaiBaraPark



Series: Torn pages [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Accidents, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Dark, Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Pain, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 15:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21340228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaiBaraPark/pseuds/AkaiBaraPark
Summary: He didn't feel like living was worth trying. But he didn't feel like killing himself either.
Series: Torn pages [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796137
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Defect

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, i'm back from the dead even if I would love not to be.  
You can imagine any stray kids member you like. Not named on purpose. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Let's be real.  
He never really wanted to die. Well, not from his own hands that is. 

Dying. A fleeting thought nagging in your brain. Everyday, this tiny voice creeps up and whisper to let yourself fall on the road when a car decides to speed up. To just starve to death, or even to leave the stove run while you sleep and a lighter can be enough to blow everything up by "mistake".  
He never really wanted to commit suicide. He wanted to die, that was for sure, but please make it look like an accident. 

He had always been like this, empty, sad, moody even gloomy some would say. Sometimes jumpy and smiley, but behind closed doors he would leave his mask for his real face. One of someone swallowed by apathy and self-deprication. It's not that he hated himself per se. He just didn't like the idea of him being on Earth instead of someone else who could have made it even bigger than he did; not that he did though. 

Dying. It was like a dream to him.  
Leaving his body rot, underground or in a morgue to be tested on. He wouldn't mind his body being used for research, at least he would feel useful in the afterlife. He would feel useful.  
Useful.  
He was not.  
Worthless.  
That's how he felt most days. Walking down the corridors, wandering without purpose and wondering about fulfillment. Weird concepts. Purpose and fulfillment. He never understood any of that. Even his accomplishment felt meaningless. Like his existence. 

A failure. That's what he was even if his family said the opposite trying to invalidate his feelings. Wasn't he allowed to feel like nothing ?  
Being disappointed started to sound like the buzzing of a bee in his head. Constant, steady, nerve wracking. Always buzzing making his brain into mush ! He hated it. This voice inside his head. It often screamed at him to wait for a train to come by and hit him face first into the void of death.  
But he always stayed on the safe side of the rail road. Behind the ever so slow red and white barrier descending to keep him from running on the tracks like notes on paper music.  
Was it because he didn't want to make a mess ? Possibly, poor and innocent people would be the one cleaning and putting his remains into bags.  
Was it because he didn't want people to be sad ? Nope. Far from it. He didn't mind them. They would be better of without him. They'd realize how much of a burden he'd been all these years.  
Was it because he was a coward ? Yes. Most likely yes. He didn't mind dying. But he was scared of his own actions and his mind. He wanted to die, but not act upon it. 

So, he decided to punish himself.  
He won't eat today. Not much at least. Or any other day really. He would only drink his cup of coffee, go about his day ignoring his stomach trying to eat himself, and then eat a small amount of food for diner, just enough to fall asleep and pray to a so-called God to let him sleep forever. 

But he always woke up. And kept on punishing himself day after day.  
As much as he wanted to die, suffering kept him always. God decided that he needed to suffer more and more. And decided to be complacent about it, and started to feel pleasure in the idea of suffering.  
His worst punishment was to keep himself alive. It was fitting.  
Living in pain, wandering, pondering the meaning of life. Craving death.  
He craved it so much it rejected him. 

He was defective. His parents brought him to life but all he wanted was to tear his soul from his human shell.  
It was a weird feeling. Not wanting to exist. Not wanting to live and see the next day. It wasn't scary. Just weird. Faking smiles, laughs to please people.  
After all, his life wasn't so bad. It didn't look bad enough to make him be this… hollow. But it was. Pain is different for everyone. And his situation, his life, brought him to crave for the final blow to come. 

He wished, all these years to die from an accident.  
Little did he know, that his wish would be granted but this physically painful.  
He heard his skull cracking, felt the burn of his crimson blood running down his tumefied face.  
It was dark, cold and lonely.  
But he felt relieved.  
A smile took over his features, the pain of living still hetched into his skin after his body fell on the pavement.  
Maybe he provoked his downfall because nobody listened. It would still be an accident in the end.  
After all, who could have predicted what happened.  
He was just there at the wrong -right- time at the wrong -right- moment. Took a punch in his pretty face and fell over the railing of the balcony.  
The wind was cold, the sirens and screams were loud, his blood was hot, his body was not.


End file.
